That First Day That Leads Us Into Thinking Summer Is Here, or, Salon III

Sunday greeted us with temperatures in the 80s, and as I lit up my tiny Smoky Joe to smoke some pork belly, I thought with amazement about how just a couple of months ago snow was howling sideways down this very street, complete with lightning and ridiculously huge accumulation. So, clearly, everyone in Chicago was in love with this first really warm day; people were finally smiling on the street, cars weren't honking except for those friendly, short little "thank you for letting me in" honks, and yours truly was gearing up for the Salon featuring pork. Specifically, a lovely bit of pig from my friend over at X-Marx, who had just finished butchering a whole pig for his highly recommended head-to-tail dinner tomorrow night. For the Salon, we'd be working with belly, hock, shoulder, tail, flank and skin.
We started with the flank, a tiny little cut suitable for a quick grill, aiming to make Matambre de Cerdo, an Argentinian dish based on Matambre, a stuffed and rolled beef flank steak. Cerdo means pig, and in this version, nothing gets stuffed or rolled--just salt and pepper, then a hot, smoky grill. I've read differing accounts--that matambre, translated, means "shoe leather"; another story is that the word is a mash up of the words "matar" (to kill) and hambre (hunger). Who can say which story is legit, but my intention was to use it as the latter: a quick bite to satiate the hungry pack who showed up to the Salon. So, we made tortillas, hand pressed and cooked on a slick cast iron skillet, and a chimichurri, with parsley, cilantro, marjoram, garlic, lemon, lime, a tomatillo, vinegar and plenty of olive oil. In place of the ubiquitous iceberg lettuce so seemingly beloved in South America, I used a crisp asparagus lettuce tip, very similar to romaine lettuce in texture but a bit more flavorful. Grilled that flank, chopped it up and into the warm tortillas it went, topped with the lettuce and chimichurri.

Hock Before Braising

Then we wanted to make rillettes, so we moved on to the hock; I'd braised this overnight with thyme and garlic so it was soft and fell right off the bone. There was a good bit of flavorful liquid left from the braise, which turned into a nice pork jelly as the hock cooled in it. We picked the meat, minced a shallot, and beat it with some mustard, vinegar, and lard rendered earlier in the day. Plenty of salt and pepper, a touch of the pork jelly, and we packed it into a little pot. Served it as a spread of sorts with some epi bread I'd made and the pork belly jam we'd make next.

Hock After Braising

For the belly jam, I did a quick cure, just overnight (as opposed to the several day cure bacon gets), with brown sugar, salt, star anise, fennel seed, black pepper, ajowan and cumin. Took it out in the morning, rinsed it, patted it dry and placed it on a rack in the fridge to dry out as much as possible in order to get the important pellicle formation--that dry, somewhat sticky outer coating of meat left uncovered in the fridge--that helps the meat absorb smoke. This usally takes more time as well, but hey--the Salon was that day so we did what we could. I then smoked it for a few hours on said Smoky Joe with some hickory chips; it got nice and smoky, and deliciously crisp on the outside. It was all I could do not to eat it all right when it came off the grill. So, when the time came, we cut it into little chunks, and fried them in lard in a pot, sort of mashing them around as we went, letting them crisp up, then we deglazed with red wine, red wine vinegar, and threw in some blueberries and mango and a bit of sugar. This cooked down for a bit, the berries popped, and we had ourselves a real nice, smoky yet bright accompaniment for the bread and rillettes.
I just had to pull out that salty Bentons ham as well, so we cubed it up, fried it in that lovely lard, then added big wedges of red onion. Got these nice and charred, deglazed with sherry vinegar, drizzled in plenty of olive oil, and tossed it all with adult spinach. Baby spinach has less flavor, costs more, and would just wilt immediately; the adult spinach kept a nice in between of wilting and staying crisp. This decadent salad was intended to be served with a garnish of pork rinds, but hey--we were drinking beer and just plain forgot. But the pork rinds would be made. Oh yes, they would be.

I cleaned the skin of the pig as much as possible, removing fat and meat. Then I boiled it for a few hours, the heat removing any fat I missed and breaking down the tough protein; then I used the back of a knife to scrape it clean again and put it in a low, low oven to dehydrate it more overnight. I then repeated the process all over again, making these guys really, really dry and tough. We heated canola oil to around 350 degrees or so, then threw the chunks of skin in; they puffed up light and crisp in seconds; we tossed them with bacon salt, a mixture not containing any bacon, but lots of salt and smoked spices that emulate bacon. Crispy, crunchy, oh so porky.

At this point people were getting pretty full, but we had to make the entree, so I gathered the troops and we made a pasta dough, then made a loose sausage as it rested. We used chunks of shoulder for this; nice and fatty and through the grinder they went. We mixed the meat with all kinds of things--garlic, marjoram, oregano, cayenne, isot pepper, red stamp pepper, cumin, coriander, red chile flake, black pepper, salt, red wine, mezcal, and the list goes on and on--then friend the spicy sausage with leeks, roasted golden beets, more pork jelly, and preserved lemon. The pasta was rolled and cut into fat thick noodles; after boiling, everything was tossed together, a bit of orange zest on top and a good dose of olive oil as well.

To finish, we whipped egg yolks and maple syrup into a sabayon--a light, foamy mousse of sorts--then folded in whipped cream, crispy bacon we'd cooked earlier and the fat that rendered out of it. Gave it a light freeze, then gobbled it all up--a nice little bacon semi-fredo.

It was a great Sunday afternoon that turned into evening that turned into night; we discussed food, the south, and demented haunted houses. I got to meet some new interesting friends, and we all ate copious amounts of food. This was a happy incarnation of the Salon, and I look forward to many more. Which reminds me--I was at a benefit last night at Kith and Kin in Chicago and ran into someone who attended the Seafood Salon by the oyster bar (where I spent much of the night parked). She proudly declared that she'd been eating the oysters bare, and chewing them, ever since the Salon. I beamed, and happily ate another with her.

Salon II: Oysters, Clams, and a Real Big Fish

Saturday night's Food on the Dole Salon found six food enthusiasts in my kitchen staring down a lovely mountain of seafood. Building that mountain were Bras d'Or Oysters of Nova Scotia, Californian Hama Hama Oysters, Manila Clams (from Washington, not the Philippines, much to the chagrin of one attendee), salt cod brandade, and a gorgeous wild striped bass, whole and weighing in over five pounds. Rounding out said mountain was homemade epi and baguettes, my beloved bibb lettuce bistro salad, "teenage" artichokes and a bright salsa verde for the bass. With six of the city's best eaters in tow, we forged ahead, and we conquered this mountain.
I started with the salt cod by soaking it in cold water for about 24-36 hours, changing the water every 4-6 hours or so. This food, which is discussed at length in Mark Kurlansky's two remarkably informative books, Salt and Cod, offered the preservation (salt) of the nutrition (cod) necessary for long sea voyages and thus global expansion way back when. Seeing it these days in a store, one wouldn't realize the enormously important role it played in the development of civilization--it's just a crusty looking piece of old fish. BUT, it can be transformed into something delicious and hearty and filling; in this case, brandade. After the above soaking to remove all the excess salt, I briefly poached it in milk, at which point it was, relatively, tender and flaky, not too different from fresh cod. I gave it a few pulses in a food processor with some roasted garlic and lots of olive oil, then folded in potatoes that had been baked, then pushed through a ricer. Salt, pepper, more olive oil, and a bit of the poaching milk, then it was spread into a baking dish, topped with some panko bread crumbs, more olive oil, then baked 'till crisp. Stick a spoon in it and put it next to a few loaves of bread, and it's gone like that.
I shucked some of our oysters, but wanting the saloneers to get the full experience, I left quite a few for them to do. Some did one or two; one guy, a navy man from New Orleans, blew through them like he'd been doing it his whole life. Well, maybe not quite that fast, but his claim that he had never shucked oysters didn't line up with the speed at which he did it this night. That's the funny thing about oyster shucking--there's always someone in a group who just kind of "gets" it from the start. The rest of us don't, and have to practice and practice. Either that, or there's a band of underground oyster shucking hustlers walking the streets.
I encouraged all guests to eat the oysters nude, by which I mean to say I asked them to try the oysters without the assistance of sauce and to chew them, while remaining fully clothed. I've written before about the importance of understanding and enjoying the terroir of oysters; despite mignonette's acidity being one of my absolute favorite flavors, I feel it masks the great things about oysters, and chewing allows us to enjoy their texture, and to release some more of the tasty liquid inside. Happily, everyone tried this, and though I offered a tangelo granita as a more subtle topping, the oysters were eaten on their own. Perhaps it was politeness, or perhaps it was the fact that sparkling wine was flowing pretty freely at this point, but I was glad to see them gobbled up so enthusiastically.
We prepared our bass in the spirit of good timing; it would be thrown in the oven as we sat down to eat our clams. Guests chopped leeks, fennel, lemons and green garlic, all of which went into the fish's belly cavity after it had been rubbed inside and out with olive oil, salt and pepper. We laid it on a bed of fennel fronds and leek ends and set it aside as we moved to the clams. So very, very simple.

For the clams, I had prepared a version of soffrito--found the world over as a flavoring agent made of simple ingredients (in this case onion, tomato and olive oil) transformed through heat and time. I minced an onion, put it in a pot over low, low heat with a bunch of olive oil and let it start to brown. Since good tomatoes are in super short supply right about now, I used some nice canned tomatoes; chopped them up fine and added them to the mix, letting the olive oil-covered soffrito go all night in my oven, as low as it could go. The result is a highly concentrated, reduced little mishmosh of flavor--keep it in a jar for weeks in the fridge, and add it to anything for a burst of flavor. We sauteed some of the leeks and fennel we'd sliced for the fish in butter, added a few good dollops of the soffrito, then the clams (purged in salt water for an hour or so to help remove any sand), hit the pan with some white wine and threw a lid on. These little guys steamed open in a few minutes (manila clams open much more quickly than most other clams) and we were set. Toasted some baguette slices and spread them with aioli, dished up the clams into bowls, and tucked in.

To serve with the fish, artichokes I like to call "teenage"--not baby, but not so adult that the choke has developed into something inedible yet--were cleaned and quartered, tossed with more fennel and leeks in the same pan the clams were cooked in, a few juices remaining--and put in the hot hot oven along with the fish as we ate. The bibb lettuce (good hydroponic stuff) was tossed with a sharp shallot vinaigrette and tarragon, basil and parsley leaves. We finished the clams, moved to the salad, then the fish was ready--soft and moist, with a few crispy points on the top half--the bottom rich and succulent, braising in the juices created through cooking. I made a quick salsa verde: parsley, tarragon, basil, garlic, capers, olives, a couple anchovies, sherry vinegar and a good bolt of olive oil pureed together. I was thrilled that this group was so comfortable with each other--people were, without abandon, picking at the fish on the pan after having eaten a few helpings; an eyeball was eaten for the first time, we discussed the benefits of the top (crisp) vs. the bottom (succulent and juicy), and how flavorful the juices in the pan were. We talked and talked, food and more, well into the evening. And yours truly was thrilled when the offered whiskey was taken late in the night/early in the morning.
It was a truly vibrant group, a simple yet beautiful meal, and I am ready to parlay this energy in to the next Salon. I will release details of that in the coming week--most likely the event will be somewhere around that second weekend of April, not far away at all. Of course, a huge thank you to the guests who have attended so far, and here's to great cooking, food and company!